A Judgement Call
by CD57
Summary: Sometimes it sucks to be the one in charge.


Title: A Judgement Call  
Author: CD57  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Gen  
Characters: David, Colby, Ian, Don  
Disclaimer: not mine.  
Spoilers: none, really. Maybe the mention of something happening in The Fifth Man, does that count?  
Warnings: uhm.... it's a fic for Val. nuf-said. Read at own risk.  
Word count: 4000-something

A/N: HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY, VAL! This is written especially for Val's birthday, which was a week or so ago, so I am late, but I did apologize. Finally, it's here, though. Rinne did the beta (thanks!). Hope you like it.

Summary: Sometimes it sucks to be the one in charge.

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**A Judgement Call**

"_**Some choices we live not only once but a thousand times over, remembering them for the rest of our lives." **__- Richard Bach_

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Special Agent David Sinclair left the stairway, entering the eighth floor of the building with careful, sideways taken steps. His right hand supported his left wrist, gun trained at the area in front of him containing nothing but concrete walls, unfinished electrical wires sticking out where sockets were planned and doorway sparring where doors were going to divide the floor into rooms in the near future.

Luckily the construction company wasn't sloppy, leaving David able to concentrate on the surroundings without having to worry about tripping over construction material.

He didn't have to be a genius to see where the assailant had gone; the trail of blood stains on the grey concrete was plain obvious for him to follow without having to glance down.

He couldn't afford to worry about those drops, about the amount of it and what it meant to the person losing it at alarming rate. David was just following the trail, concentrating on the job, deep down knowing there was no time to waste but also aware that rushing things could end this worse than the whole situation already was.

How had this thing gone south so badly?

David Sinclair had been so sure of himself when he'd applied to become the primary relief supervisor of the Violent Crimes division. Ever since he'd received on the job training however, he'd started to second-guess his own abilities. The job was a lot harder than he'd expected. It wasn't the regular leading of a team that was causing him concern. David was fully capable of that, he'd proven that on several occasions. He could lead a team, was able to hand out instructions, get the most out of every member, knew the proper procedures to follow, how to perform a raid and how to coordinate an operation.

It was when he ended up in the fine lines between black and white that he started to falter. Making split-second decisions where neither of them seemed the right thing to do, choosing between something bad or something worse where both didn't fall into the proper procedure guidelines, or when crossing the line only for a bit would prove to help a better outcome; those situations were hard for David to handle.

This had become obviously clear when he'd been in charge after Don got stabbed and Colby had challenged him. David had been talking to Don about this, about his hesitation in certain situations. His boss had reassured him, explaining to him that it was just a lack of experience, that he would get better at that in time. Don had taken effort in the role as coach, leaving David in charge at certain moments, knowing that on-the-job training was the best to overcome this.

So here he was, as the leading agent. If the situation wasn't that dire, he would have laughed at the irony. _Leading agent..._ He was the only agent at the moment as he carefully made his way across the eighth floor, trying to get a visual on the suspect.

He'd been dreading situations like this. Situations where he had to be the one choosing between the lives of two other agents. How could he decide who got to be first priority? Who was he to decide who lived or died?

He really should get better at this, he thought, as he crossed another empty room. It hadn't been him, making the split-time decision. It had been his partner, the former Army soldier, former triple spy but most of all his friend. Colby hadn't hesitated at all, as he lay there at the bottom of the stairs, bleeding all over the place, one hand pressed firmly over his wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding, the other hand waving at David, pointing up in the general direction of the stairs._ "Go, David," he'd croaked. "Go. I'll be all right. Go and help Don."_

Where was back-up when you needed it? He'd called out to them through his mike, informing them about Colby, but he knew it would take a while before they got here.

So here he was, chasing the assailant who was dragging an injured Don Eppes with him. He'd left his badly injured partner, the one he most certainly had been able to help, in order to attempt to try to help his boss, who was also badly injured if the blood trail was any indication.

_He might end up losing them both._

It sucked, to be the one in charge. Nobody was supposed to be making these kind of decisions.

"Stop!" The order was firm and sharp.

David stopped right there, hiding behind a wall, his gun still at the ready, as he focussed on the voice of the assailant and the sounds coming from the next room. There was no time to dwell on the decision that Colby had made for him. In charge or not, he was here. Right now, he was the only one who could try to put an end to this hostage situation. Right now, he was Don's only hope.

David cleared his throat and did what David Sinclair did best. He talked.

-1-2-E-4-5-6-7-8-9-0-

Special Agent Colby Granger gasped as he pressed harder on the wound to his thigh. He was lying on the ground, slightly turned over leaning on his uninjured left side, on his elbow. His jeans were already clotted and sticky with blood and he could feel the warm liquid pressing through the fingers of his hand.

His vision was blurring as he watched how his partner disappeared to the first floor, going after their suspect.

He knew he was in trouble. He knew he needed to stop the bleeding. He cursed at himself for getting shot like that, leaving David alone to go and stop the assailant.

Colby and David had been in pursuit across the square, as the assailant had dragged their stumbling boss with him. Apparently the man had a good grip on Don, as Colby had seen his boss stagger more than a few times. Which wasn't a surprise, given he had been shot from close range, through the kevlar of his vest.

Colby had been faster than David, like always. He should have waited before entering the empty building, but his concern for Don had made him act. A mistake that he'd paid for with getting shot as well.

He'd tried to keep his footing, fully intending to continue as the assailant forced Don up the stairs, but his injured leg had buckled beneath him only seconds before David had burst inside.

Colby knew his partner would stop to help him. Colby had also seen a glimpse of his boss, had seen the pallor of his skin, the tight setting of Don's lips as he tried to control the pain and he had seen the blood drops falling from his side, dripping to the floor and stairs.

_Don's time was running out._

In Colby's book, they couldn't just leave him behind. They were at war and while he was safe, Don wasn't. Without hesitation he pointed to the stairs and told David to go. Don needed him. Colby could take care of himself.

So here he was, one hand clamped over the wound. He needed to keep pressure for at least ten minutes, he knew, then he could worry about finding something to wrap around his thigh as a pressure-bandage.

All he had to do right now was hold on.

-1-2-E-4-5-6-7-8-9-0-

"Take it easy," David called out with what he hoped was his best reassuring voice. "I'm here, I'm alone and I just want to talk."

"Don't want to talk!" the assailant barked. "And drop your gun or I will shoot him."

David's breathing hitched at the threat. "No, you won't," he reasoned. "Then you have nothing left to get yourself out of this situation." He listened carefully, waiting for an answer and ready to jump around the corner at the first clicking of a gun.

He heard nothing but ragged breathing. Probably Don, probably the assailant, maybe both. "Easy, now," he warned as he slowly moved forward. "I'm coming, real slow. I just want to talk."

David took a careful step, showing himself bit by bit. "See? I'm here." The gun still in position, but now holding it with only one hand, David put up the other in a non-threatening manner as he stepped inside the next room.

"Lower your gun," the assailant repeated.

David shook his head as he looked at the situation in front of him. "You know I can't do that. Let's talk about what you want instead, all right?"

For the first time that day David got a good view of the man. He was a Caucasian man in his late-twenties with short dark, ruffled hair. He was dressed casually with a pair of vintage blue jeans and a basic black shirt. All in all he looked pretty normal, except for the eyes.

The eyes were a tad too bright, the pupils widened and the man was nervously looking around before the gaze settled on David. The younger man kept Don in front of him, one arm around the agent's neck, the other hidden behind his back.

"So," David repeated. He needed to take this slow, he needed the time to gather as much information as he could. Don's face was as white as a ghost, the contrast sharp against the black sleeve of the assailant's shirt. The arm around Don's neck didn't seem to compromise his breathing but from the looks of it, Don was having trouble trying to remain on his feet and that arm might actually be the only thing keeping him from falling forward. With the way his boss appeared to be held, David suspected that the assailant had either a gun or maybe a knife pressed against Don's back.

David glanced down, taking in the hole in the kevlar Don was wearing and saw that drops of blood were still rolling down the agent's thigh. Don's jeans were already stained dark from the crimson fluid that had been dripping for some time.

He tilted his head, shifting his gaze back to his boss. Don's face was sweaty, his eyes were clouded with pain but the look that Don threw back at David was one of calm and reassurance.

"Let's start this nice and easy. My name is David. David Sinclair. The man you are holding there is my boss, Don Eppes. Wanna tell me yours?"

The assailant didn't respond. Instead, he let his eyes drift from one corner to the other, apparently not convinced that David was alone.

"Nobody else is here," David repeated. "Come on, you've got to have a name?"

"Bob… just call me Bob," the assailant replied after another short moment of hesitation.

"All right," David gave a slow nod. "Bob it is. Why were you running from us, Bob?"

Bob's gaze had drifted again but snapped back to the agent. "I… I have to get away…"

David frowned. "Why? What do you have to get away from?"

"You. Them." Bob shifted a little and tightened his grip on his hostage.

Don's sharp intake of breath had David quickly holding up a hand. "Easy. You're hurting him. Who is them?"

"They're everywhere…"

David took in the frightened look in the assailant's eyes and didn't like the way the younger man's arm was trembling as his eyes darted from the left to the right. "You gotta tell me more than that, Bob. What are you talking about?"

"They'll kil me… they know everything. Gotta go, gotta run," Bob mumbled. He slowly started to track backwards, dragging Don with him.

"Bob!" David urged. "We can help you. But you'll have to help us."

"Nobody can help me. Too late. They're coming."

"How do you know that, Bob? We're all alone here. You, me, Don," David tried to calm the other man down.

Bob looked back at him, his eyes showing a glint of hope.

"That's right, Bob. See?" David made a careful indicating gesture with his free hand, directing it around the room. "Just us. You don't have to be afraid now."

Bob's eyes followed David's hand, then the man quickly glanced over his shoulder before looking back at David.

"Agent Eppes really needs to sit down, Bob." David was afraid his influence on the hostile wasn't nearly enough but for Don's sake he had to try. "Can you do that? Sit down? We can all sit down, then work this out. What do you say?"

Bob seemed to consider it for only a second. The he wildly shook his head. "Sitting is bad. Need to move." Again, he inched his way backward. "It's not safe here."

"Okay," David motioned again, with his free hand. He could easily see how much effort it cost Don to remain upright as his knees were threatening to buckle. His senses were on high alert, if Don would fall, he'd be ready. "Okay, so you want to move. Then why don't you let Agent Eppes sit down, first? You can move much easier without him."

"Can't escape," Bob muttered, not responding to David's suggestion. He tightened his grip and moved further back. "Need to go. They're coming."

Before David knew, the man actually managed to drag Don through another door opening. He moved forward with caution, peered through the opening first and stepped in the area behind that when he'd found it safe to do so.

"Bob, wait!"

The kidnapper didn't wait however, mumbling incoherently as he kept moving backwards. David followed closely. He tried to get eye-contact with his boss, hoping to see if Don was ready to end this, but apparently the senior agent was too busy trying to stay conscious. His eyes were closed, his teeth clenched while drops of sweat were rolling down his temple.

"Bob, stop!" David called out. With all the moving around it was harder for David to aim at the man without hitting Don as well and it was also painfully obvious that the jostling wasn't doing Don's injury any good. David needed to end this in a controlled way and Don collapsing wasn't going to provide him a controlled situation but instead a drug-related panic attack with an unpredictable outcome.

Bob didn't listen and dragged Don with him. He managed to keep the agent on his feet as they moved, disappearing out of sight for another split-second.

What David saw when he moved around another corner had him stop dead in his tracks.

They had reached the outside of the eighth floor. Bob and Don were now standing on the outer edge of the concrete, only one step away from plunging eight levels down.

"Don't come any closer," Bob warned, his eyes wide as he quickly glanced down before turning his attention back to the only agent who proposed a threat.

"I won't," David replied quickly. "Talk to me, Bob. Who is coming to get you, huh?"

"They…" Bob mumbled. He shifted on his feet and swayed a bit.

David didn't dare to breathe as he watched the assailant regain his balance.

"They… they have dark eyes," Bob continued. "Can't see them, not really. Can't look into their souls."

"We can protect you." David wished it were true. There was no way to guess whether there was someone really threatening the man or it was merely the drugs speaking.

"No," Bob shook his head. "No. no-no-no-no. You can't."

"Yes, we can." David hoped he sounded as convincing as he wanted. The longer he kept Bob calm, the better. A scraping sound alerted him as his earpiece came to life. It was the voice of Nikki. Her message was short and promising. _"Stall, David. I'm here and I brought Ian."_

Edgerton was here. David briefly closed his eyes as hope flared but fear remained. _Would it be in time? _

Looking up, he tried to keep his cool as he gave a curt nod, repeating his statement. "We can. And we will."

-1-2-E-4-5-6-7-8-9-0-

Special Agent Ian Edgerton took the stairs three steps at a time, a briefcase with one of his favorite rifles in his right hand.

This was wrong on so many levels.

As a sniper, actually one of the worlds best at that, he was used to and trusted on patience, calm, precision and accuracy. He'd become one of the best because he always handled cases that way.

A sniper carefully picked his location. Ideally, after thoroughly checking all the surroundings. A lot of things had to be taken into account. Distance, height of the position compared to the target, circumstances like the weather, the wind, the position of the sun. Then there was the crowd which had to be observed along with the buildings in the near area which could cause problems or distractions from sudden reflections of sunshine to window cleaners appearing on rooftops.

There was the traffic, obstacles like flagpoles or commercial signs and of course the presence of animal life like birds that could interfere.

Depending on the assignment, there was sometimes the need to remain out of sight and the in advance planning of several getaway routes. Then there was always the careful job of choosing the right rifle.

The distance played a role there, along with the target. Was it a moving target or one that remained relatively still? Then the circumstances of the sniper's location had influence on which rifle would be best as well. How much room was there for the sniper, a place where the shooter could only remain standing or sitting demanded another type of rifle than a situation where he could lie down and balance the weapon on a bipod or even a tripod.

Success depended on careful planning. It was something that couldn't be rushed. That's why snipers had a great amount of patience and a set of steady nerves. It was something Ian was very good at and he had his own set of favorite rifles, ready for different kind of situations. His job took time.

He had no time.

_Not this time._

Nikki Betancourt had dropped him off near the construction site they knew the others were at. They knew from Colby's report that the assailant had dragged an injured Don Eppes upstairs and that David Sinclair had followed. To which floor they didn't know, David hadn't been in the position to report that back.

Throwing one glance at the construction site and the building across, Ian had grabbed his favorite rifle and had started running while Nikki had rushed to Colby's aid.

Ian had already made educated guesses about windspeed, probable distance and other details that were important to him. There was no time for him to find a suitable location on the right floor. He simply had to pick one and hope for the best so he decided to go to the ninth. While he passed the fifth floor, he threw a quick glance out of the window.

What he saw didn't really make him feel any better. The ninth floor wasn't a bad guess, he knew that now because he'd seen the assailant and the agents.

Cursing, he continued taking the stairs.

The assailant was standing on the outer edge of the building, holding Don Eppes in a death grip and he appeared ready to jump.

Which meant he had even less time than he thought.

He had to get to the ninth floor as soon as possible. He needed to find a location where he could open a window and then he still had to assemble the rifle.

There would be no time for a double check. No time for extra cleaning of the barrel. No time to find the perfect position, to calm his nerves, steady his breathing or study the environment and the wind.

His experience was going to be the only thing he had. This rush was totally against his nature. Against the way he preferred to work. Especially because this time he wasn't going to aim at the bad guy.

With the way they were standing there on the edge of the building, this time Ian Edgerton was going to have to shoot Special Agent Don Eppes.

-1-2-E-4-5-6-7-8-9-0-

If only Charlie were here.

Charlie could tell him all about the shot he was planning. The position of the target, the way he held Don; David's own position. Charlie would be able to calculate what the force of the bullet would do, how the assailant would stagger from the impact and which way Don would fall as a result of that. Charlie would also be able to predict David's chance at success with an accuracy they had come to count on in many cases.

Charlie wasn't here.

Which was probably a good thing, David thought, as the mere sight of his brother being held hostage on the edge of a building while he was already bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound would probably freak the professor out. He probably wouldn't be able to predict anything at all.

Then again, David didn't need Charlie to tell him his chances were slim. He knew there was only one way he could shoot, one way which would throw Bob backwards in a way that wouldn't knock Don over the edge. Probably. Hopefully.

It would have to be one hell of a lucky shot, one that had to be timed very precisely and needed both Bob and Don to remain absolutely still. One wrong movement would affect the force of the impact, resulting in one or two people falling towards the wrong direction of the edge.

No, Ian would provide a better chance. Ian's shot would come from a different angle, throwing the target away from the edge. Ian would aim at Don, David realized that immediately, but he trusted the sniper enough to know that Ian's shot would be made with minimum damage and maximum effect.

He needed to stall. It would take at least another precious eight to ten minutes for Ian to get into position and be ready.

He needed more time.

David hated these kind of situations. He would be forced to make a decision. A decision that could end badly either way. If he waited too long, hoping for Ian's shot, the assailant could jump, taking Don with him in a fall eight levels down to a certain death. If he took the shot, it could be either his aim or a wrong movement causing another outcome than he hoped for.

_There was no time._

Bob was losing it. That much was obvious. He was rambling incoherent phrases, referring to the bible and stating that he could fly.

Don was trying to hold it together, but David could not only see but also sense his fear. Don knew his time was running out but of course didn't know that Ian Edgerton had arrived.

Bob wasn't paying attention anymore to anything David said. He was lost in his own, drug induced world where devils and demons were pushing him literally over the edge.

To stall or not to stall. For David that was the main question.

He'd slowly moved his free hand, bringing it up to support his other arm holding the gun. If he had to take the shot, he needed his aim to be as steady as possible. He took even, deep breaths, forcing himself to remain calm. While he hoped to hear the much-wanted signal from Ian, he knew he couldn't rely on the sniper to be in time.

The only thing he could rely on was his own judgement. He was here, he could look Bob in the eye and determine what the best course of action was. He was forced to make a split-second decision.

Bob was humming now. His free hand moved forward, like a wing, ready to be spread. He threw a last glance at David, then closed his eyes to draw a final breath.

This was it. Time stood still.

Don shuddered. Bob yelled, "I can fly!" Ian's desperate "no!" came through David's earpiece. David's finger released the trigger.

Two bodies tumbled.

-1-2-E-4-5-6-7-8-9-0-

**----- T H E E N D -----**


End file.
